


Purpose

by Voido



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Again, Gloves, Kissing, Lap-sitting, M/M, Maid dress, akira is sly as always, birthday boy - Freeform, i'm not even ashamed, it's highly suggestive, nothing explicit tho, ryuji tries but he's powerless, thigh-highs for healthy crops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 16:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19467571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voido/pseuds/Voido
Summary: Gloves. Long, tight, blood red gloves covering slim fingers, and he's a decent chunk ashamed of the fact that it looks incredibly familiar, if only because he’s caught himself staring at the same hands countless times, fiddling with equally red gloves absentmindedly. He’s too busy being caught off guard to be actually surprised, even though a million questions do linger somewhere on his mind.“Hey,” he answers, proud that his voice isn’t quite breaking yet, sounding almost casual, considering how he’s dying inside. “Any reason you’re wearin’ those?”----------It's Ryuji's birthday, and there's quite the surprise waiting for him.





	Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> _Is it gay if you kiss your bro on your friend's sofa asking for myself. Okay but for real on a scale from 1-10 how inappropriate would that be I mean it's not their sofa but then again it's her own goddamn fault so yeah good riddance._   
>  _This was made in shocked realization that I had yet to write about Akira wearing a maid dress, a concept sent to us by whatever higher entity exists out there personally. "What do you want me to do?" he asked Ryuji ingame, and don't anyone try to tell me that that was a casual question because Akira is a sly hoe and we all know it._

“You’ll love it, dumbass, and now shut up!”

It ’s not the insult, not even the bossy attitude, but something about Ann’s entire behavior ensures Ryuji that whatever he’s soon in for is a thing he will not, quote unquote,  _ love _ . He trusts Ann —he really does—but more than anything, he trusts her to be able to ruin his life and troll him whenever the chance arises. She ’s exceptionally good at that, and ever since she’s met the genius of Makoto, the capability of Futaba, and the sadism of Haru, her power has only grown stronger.

They ’re chilling at her place, in the ridiculously generous living room, because as much as Ryuji loves spending his birthday with his mother, she does not deserve the combined volume of his and his friends’ voices for  _ hours.  _ What confuses him, though, is that no one else is here. Are they  _ really _ leaving him hanging like this? He wants to doubt it, especially since it ’s  _ Ann _ he ’s sitting next to. She wouldn’t not remind them, in case they did forget. And then there’s this thing about the  _ super special present _ which she mentioned having in stock for him, and the mischievous grin is  _ so _ getting under his skin.

She wouldn ’t ruin his birthday, that’s not the kind of person she is. She would, however, make sure to get a  _ lot _ of fun out of it, and definitely at  _ his _ cost, so he can ’t shake off the feeling that whatever it is she’s plotted in that evil little mind of hers, it’s going to hurt.

In one way, or in another.

“Ah, by the way, I’d been wondering why you and Mishima whispered about those Maid posters going around in Shibuya again. It was as if you were guilty, and I got curious.”

He ’s  _ sweating. _

Why the hell is she bringing up the maid business? Ryuji remembers vividly, the way his heart raced when they called the service, how he and Mishima ran to the balcony and left the whole ordeal to Akira —not to mention the goddamn fact that the maid turned out to be their goddamn  _ teacher _ , which he hopes is something Ann will  _ never _ get out of them. In either case, why does she mention it, other than to embarrass him, and why  _ does _ it still embarrass him, more than a year later?

“Y-yeah, I mean no! It’s a long fuckin’ story. The dresses are just…uh…cute. Yeah. I like the dresses.”

“Oh, do you? Interesting.”

She grins and pokes his side, then drums on her knees playfully, a pleased smile playing around her lips. Apparently, she ’s waiting for something, and before Ryuji gets the chance to ask, her phone buzzes and she jumps up, brings a decent distance between them and stares at it to read whatever exhilarating message she just got. 

“Anyway,” she almost sings, dancing a bit on the spot. “I need to go, uhh…pick up the others. Yeah, exactly! Be good and wait _right here_ until we return, right?”

“Right.”

She ’s still the worst liar he’s met in his entire life, without any competition, but she doesn’t give him the chance to say  _ no _ and demand an explanation for what ’s going on, because seconds later, she’s out of the room, and another few later, out of the apartment, because he hears the door fall shut, leaving him in confusing dead silence.

“What the heck just happened?” he asks himself, leans into the cushions on the sofa, and frowns at nothing in particular, before reaching for his phone on the table. There aren’t any new messages, but he’s going to _send_ one right now, because if anyone has even a gist of an idea about what’s going on right now, it can only be _him_.

Akira.

Then again, what is Ryuji going to ask?

‘ _Hey, dude, any idea what’s up with Ann?’_?

‘ _What’s up with the fancy ass act about a party?’_?

Or, most importantly:

‘ _Where the hell are_ you _, even?_ _’_?

Because all those questions are valid and important, and the last one is his main reason for not texting anything at all. If Akira isn ’t around for Ryuji’s  _ birthday _ , then that undoubtedly means something mightily important got the in the way. So …no point getting on his nerves, right?

“Hey.”

He jumps.

Literally jumps a bit and falls back onto the sofa, and doesn ’t turn to the culprit scaring the shit out of him solely due to the fact that said  _ culprit _ is wrapping their arms around him, hands coming to a rest on his chest. Instead of behind himself, Ryuji looks down. Gloves. Long, tight, blood red gloves covering slim fingers, and he's a decent chunk ashamed of the fact that it looks incredibly familiar, if only because he ’s caught himself staring at the same hands countless times, fiddling with equally red gloves absentmindedly. He’s too busy being caught off guard to be actually surprised, even though a million questions  _ do _ linger somewhere on his mind.

“Hey,” he answers, proud that his voice isn’t quite breaking yet, sounding almost casual, considering how he’s dying inside. “Any reason you’re wearin’ those?”

The only reason he keeps it at staring —as opposed to doing something stupid like …reaching up, touching the lace sleeves that the gloves melt into, covering the light skin underneath and giving it just the right shade of red—is that he’s wondering if this is some kind of big joke. He remembers Ann’s mischievous attitude earlier, how she  _ allegedly _ fled the apartment but might still actually be hiding somewhere, and while the tiny devil on his shoulder has some nasty ideas how he might get ridiculed today, he simultaneously doesn ’t want to believe that either of his friends would do that to him.

Not like this.

“You don’t like them?” is the question he gets in return, and even though that’s absolutely _not_ the point he’s trying to make, he shakes his head to explain.

“No—yes. I mean, I do? Th-that ain’t why I asked, dude!”

A carefree laugh, before a nose is dug deep into his hair, a hum lightly caressing his skin and sending a shiver down his spine. He still hasn ’t turned his head, is still looking at the bright red on his chest, and in the blink of an eye, it’s gone, causing him to  _ finally _ look up and come to his senses.

Okay, what the hell ’s going on?

He doesn ’t dare ask, and he doesn’t need to, because seconds later, a body drops down on the sofa next to his own. It’s not the first time he notices it, but it sure is the first time he actively considers bringing it up: Whatever he wears, Akira has some kind of divine ability to look attractive in literally  _ everything _ . He could probably be wrapped up in a garbage bag and manage to make it look good, and that ’s simply not fair. 

The worst part, though, is the confidence he puts into it.

He drapes one leg over the other elegantly, tight thigh-highs playing around his legs right up to the point where the goddamn  _ dress _ ends. It ’s short, frilly and wide on the bottom part, equally frilly but skin-tight on the upper, and it’s such a perfect fit that Ryuji does not, for even a second, doubt that it was chosen with a  _ lot _ of consideration. He knows he ’s staring like the biggest moron on the planet, torn between an odd sense of fascination, shock, and most definitely a little bit of desire to reach out and touch.

A  _ tiny _ bit.

“So you _do_ like it,” is Akira’s swift deduction, and Ryuji is only short of kicking him for his smug-ass attitude, but something tells him that if he dares get that close, even if for a violent act like punching, then _punching_ is undoubtedly the very last thing he’s going to do, and he plans to keep at least a teeny tiny bit of his dignity today, thank you very much.

That, however, is besides the fact that,  _ yes _ , he  _ does _ like it, because he fucking likes maid dresses, and he also fucking likes Akira, and both of those things combined are, and Ryuji can ’t think this often enough,  _ not fair _ and also nothing he has any kind of power against.

“What if I did though?” he asks instead, proud of himself yet again for not stuttering or even turning red, but doesn’t get much of a chance to dwell in that pride, because immediately, a clothed finger pushes up his chin, an incredibly too sly smile greets him, and he feels his resolution slip from his own fingertips. Maybe he’s sweating, and maybe he’s swallowing hard, but really, he has all the reason to.

“If you _did_ ,” Akira starts slowly, taps his own chin and pretends to think, while not losing even a second in closing the distance, moving closer, making sure their legs touch from thigh to shin. “I would _wonder_ if there’s anything else you might…like.”

Alright, for the record: He ’s playing dirty. His voice is a low whisper, deep and passionate and suggestive, his body speaks exactly one language called  _ innuendo _ , and he  _ definitely _ knows what he ’s doing with his hands, tracing down Ryuji’s cheekbone in such a slow, patient fashion that it’s just short of painful, keeps him but an inch from begging for more, from leaning in to close the distance himself, dances on the edge between  _ nothing _ and  _ everything _ , and immediately climbs high up in the list of things Akira is unbelievably swift at without any right to be.

As he ’s on the very pleasant receiving end of said swiftness right now, Ryuji does not feel in any way inclined to mind or complain in any kind of way.

“Well, so…” he starts, quickly having lost all his composure, “maybe I do like it.”

“Maybe?”

He swallows his pride and gives in, because  _ screw it _ . If that ’s the price to pay to deepen the touch, the pressure, the load of emotion he’s blessed enough to feel right now—worth it. If all Akira wants in exchange for being a god-sent peak of attractiveness, then so fucking be it.

“I like it.”

Apparently, that ’s the correct answer, because as soon as it’s out, fingers dig into his hair, pull him closer, right into a kiss that’s equally as desperate as he feels, warm and soft, demanding and restless. He wonders, for a moment, who of them anticipated it more, and considering he wasn’t even  _ aware _ of this situation until a few minutes ago, the answer isn ’t as obvious as he initially thought.

Not that it matters.

What does matter, though, is how his mind turns to goo, coherent thoughts being replaced by the desire to feel more, to get closer, to eradicate even the tiniest bit of distance between them. There ’s a hand on his chest, pushing him deeper into the cushions, then shuffling, then legs pressing against his thighs, keeping him in place quite effectively.

“You’re hella excited,” he can’t help saying somewhere between two kisses, and enjoys the way Akira’s lips curl into a smile against his own, before tracing down to his chin and neck, and ultimately sucking on his pulse. It’s…quite the feeling.

“I won’t deny that,” Akira murmurs quietly before resuming the action, adds teeth to it, one hand still drawing patterns on Ryuji’s skull, the other searching for purpose somewhere on his side, under the shirt he wouldn’t mind losing entirely. As it turns out, Akira’s hyper-fixation on playing with his gloves whenever he wears any seems to be only the warm-up exercise of busying his hands, because _god damn_ , he’s talented with them, knows exactly where to grab and pinch and scratch for it to feel just right. And that doesn’t even mention the entire rest of him, his panting breaths, his knees digging into Ryuji’s hip, and it’s really fucking good—

“There’s a tiny detail I forgot to mention,” Akira admits then, breaking the kiss for good and bringing a tiny distance between them, enough to get lost in each other’s eyes, not enough to quite yet mourn the loss. To be honest, Ryuji doesn’t wanna hear it, and he only doesn’t ignore the words because there’s a hand on his chest again, fingers spread wide and keeping him exactly where he is.

He won ’t say it out loud, but there’s  _ something _ about being bossed around like this that he can ’t deny liking a whole goddamn lot. And because it doesn’t seem like Akira is going to give in anytime soon, Ryuji budges, tilts his head and asks:

“And what’s that?”

He ’s met with an oddly terrifying, sheepish grin.

“This…isn’t _exactly_ what Ann and I had in mind.” Then, before Ryuji gets a chance to even _gasp_ : “She’s actually picking up the others. I’m not supposed to be here yet.”

He whines. A pathetic, small, bratty sound he ’s glad no one else gets to hear, but in his goddamn defense, he has his excited, panting, absolutely  _ stunning _ best friend sitting in his lap, and the fact alone that all  _ this _ was  _ not _ part of whatever odd plan they had is quite satisfying in itself, although it does not make up for the fact that they ’ll have company soon. They may have defeated a whole-ass  _ God _ a long time ago, but even so, there ’s a few things Ryuji thinks he never has to experience first-hand. Being caught getting it on with anyone, let alone Akira, not to mention in a fucking maid dress?

High up on that list.  _ High _ . Up.

“You’re such a goddamn tease, man,” Ryuji complains, and runs his hands over the frilly fabric, well aware that he shouldn’t, that this is the exact best moment to part in order to _not_ be caught by anyone. “How ‘bout we lock ‘em out?”

It ’s not a serious question, but Akira seems to consider, if the pleased smile playing around his lips is any indication. He leans in closer again, brushes his nose against Ryuji’s and makes sure to put meaning into the way he moves his hips—slow, suggestive, shameless.

“We could just…not lock them out,” he states, clearly aiming to sound innocent, but the concept is all there; he doesn’t even give a damn if anyone walks in on them right now, and he proves it by closing the distance entirely, engaging in another hungry, pleasant kiss, and because he knows he has absolutely no chance against Akira’s power, Ryuji decides to give in. Regret? Can haunt him later. Shame? Somewhere in the back of his mind, drowned out by teeth gently nipping on his lower lip, frill brushing against his arms and lace melting under his hands.

He ’s not exactly proud of the scream reaching his ears soon after, but too busy laughing at the pillow flying in their direction right after to honestly apologize. Besides, it’s totally not this fault, and the sight is definitely the fitting payback for Ann trying to have her own share of fun.

Serves her right.


End file.
